


please, don't (for I won't)

by evil_bunny_king



Series: Of the Sun [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abora Lavellan, F/M, Fade Kiss, Solas POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:32:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5241683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_bunny_king/pseuds/evil_bunny_king
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He lets himself dip into the bow of her lips, lick their smile free. Lets himself be grounded between warm hands and firm thighs, the drag of calloused fingertips, moths beating against the lattice of his ribs.</p><p>----</p><p>Solas comprehends the kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	please, don't (for I won't)

_Please pick me up on my long walk back home_

_Give me something to eat, for I’m weak to my bones,_  
_Hold me tight in your arms, give me glimmers of hope_

 _Do not love me though_  
Do not love me though

\- Keaton Henson, ['Strawbear'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2a4kHI_Hj4E)

 

* * *

 

Moments of weakness.

They haunt him, will haunt him; but if it is not real, if he is dreaming - if these shadows that cling to mockeries of their forms are the bitter grit of an absent mind - then what is a moment to a lie?

a brief solace - from his long _long_ walk - to a fabrication and he is so tired, now, he feels it to the heart of him, the beating blood that hammers in his chest and in his ears in the silence that surrounds the singularity that he's become.

and if a figment of dreaming, betwixt the gloaming and the stir of dawn, chooses to come to him - and if he lets her share his breath, lets her subside, there, caught between sharp teeth and a mouth that burns, then- then - why should he not-?

if he lets  _himself._

.

He  _lets himself_ dip into the bow of her lips, lick their smile free. _Lets himself_  be grounded between warm hands and firm thighs, the drag of calloused fingertips, moths beating against the lattice of his ribs.

.

**She is not an echo.**

.

he knows. he does.

but he - almost wishes she was. because if so, then it wouldn’t- it- if so, then he could-

**But she is not.**

.

Sharp nails find the curve of his nape and scrape lightly across it, sending a chill of pleasure down his back. He sinks into her grasp, closing his eyes.

What is she?

neither real nor unreal: a wraith in-between, caught in the web that he’d spun.

but wasn’t he also?

He breaks away to gasp a breath. Opens his eyes and shakes his head at the sight he finds there, heartbeat a staccato amidst chrysalis.

Flushed cheeks and bright eyes face him across the dreamscape. A will among ruins, defiant and brilliant,  _impossible_ , and he finds himself bending in once more.

he is drawn in by wingbeats. to the flicker of forgotten light. to the whispers of a tomorrow.

**she is not real.**

he knows. he will linger only a moment, he tells himself. just this once.

just this once

please, let him be weak.


End file.
